Lezard Valeth and the Rod of Throbbing Power
by Gregg Landsman
Summary: A sequel to the alternate ending, involving the new incarnation of a few of our heroes...and just how messed up the cosmos can be when a Rogue becomes a God.
1. Prologue

Valkyrie Profile and all characters are the property of Square-Enix. All rights reserved.

This is…somewhat of a sequel to the end of Silmeria. So spoilers abound. Big honking spoilers. For the alternate ending, at that.

**Lezard Valeth**

**And the Rod of Throbbing Power**

The transition from archer to All-Father wasn't nearly as smooth as Rufus had hoped.

He hadn't entered Asgard proper for more than five minutes before a crowd of quite angry Gods were already on him. If they weren't brandishing weapons, they were brandishing questions.

"Where is Odin?"

"Why do you carry Gungnir?"

"Has the crisis been resolved?"

And so on and so forth. Years living by his wits had taught the green-haired half-elf how to react to situations, and bluffing was one of the skills he had managed to develop quite well.

The story, he told, was that Lord Odin had held back the power of the Mad Necromancer Lezard Valeth, and had stayed, sacrificing his life to destroy the second World Tree. His last act, Rufus lied, was to give him, Odin's own special repository, Gungnir and the throne of Asgard.

By and large, they bought it. The only one he could tell had doubts on it was Freya, but she had spent enough time with Odin to know what a dick he was, and he'd as soon see all of Creation burn before putting his position in jeopardy.

It has been…a long time since then. A few years, but time moves differently in Asgard. Despite now being All-Father, he hasn't changed his appearance, and is comfortable enough to not need to carry around Gungnir all the time, letting the double-lance rest in the dimensional pocket his predecessor (father?) would use.

Sitting on the throne, the beaded bang hanging over his eyes, All-Father Rufus listens to a petition from the God of War, Tyr. Who, he notices, has one hand, which makes him want to comment that he's not that _good_ at being the God of War.

It's like whoever decided on what the Aesir would be decided that testosterone would be a good substitute for common sense.

Floating next to his throne, Freya smirks, faintly. In confidence, she would tell him that his tenure as All-Father has been more entertaining than Odin's. He still isn't sure whether or not that was a jab, though.

Tyr, the God of War, wants to resume hostilities with the Vanir, or in particular Lord Surt. Next to him, dwarfing the warrior-God yet wearing far less clothing, Thor, God of Thunder and son of Odin rubs the bridge of his nose.

It is the fact that Freya has great patience that Tyr does not get flash-fried for suggesting 'Wiping out those Vanir scum once and for all!'

"Okay, we're done here," Rufus says.

"Lord Rufus," Tyr asks, standing ramrod straight, "Shall we wage war, then?"

"Um…no," Rufus responds, "Here's a better idea. Are we currently at war against the Vanir?"

"No," Freya says, before Tyr or Thor can respond.

"Great. I don't want to be at War with the Vanir, either. Freya, compared to you, about how powerful is the average Vanir?"

"I am more powerful than the average," Freya responds, "But by and large, the Vanir out-power the Aesir."

"And that's my reasoning right there," Rufus says, "So no. Go skirmish against Niffleheim or focus on Jotun raids. Poking Vanaheim with a stick is _not_ on my list of priorities. Okay?"

Tyr looks down, clenching his remaining hand.

"As you command, All-Father."

He marches out, as Thor bows.

"I accede to your wisdom," the Thunderer says, "Although, it may not be wise to allow Lord Surt to have the first blow."

"I'll remember that," Rufus sighs.

Thor walks out, chuckling to himself. It brings up the question in Rufus' mind on whether or not he's related to Odin's many children, bastards or no. Technically, then, he's being picked on by his older brother.

"Freya, why are we hostile with the Vanir," he asks.

She turns to him, still floating, crossing her legs as she 'sits' on absolutely nothing at all.

_Best view in Asgard,_ he thinks to himself.

She frowns at him.

_Right, telepathy. Sorry._

"Our hostilities with Vanaheim stem from incidents between our respective rulers," she says, adopted that cultured accent she wears when lecturing him, "In essence, it is bad blood and past incidents between Lord Odin and Lord Surt."

"You don't say. So Surt's ticked off at Odin-like just about everyone else _outside_ of Asgard-and it's led to war?"

"More or less," she continues, "The last major war between Asgard and Vanaheim ended with a parlay between Odin and Surt. Citizens were exchanged. I and Frei became citizens of Asgard, and Lord Mimir, one of Odin's advisors, ended up in Vanaheim."

"I see…"

"Lord Surt believed himself tricked, and beheaded Mimir."

"…ah."

"Hence continuing hostilities."

"Right…well, that solves that."

Slapping his knees, Rufus stands, skipping down the stairs of his raised throne and summoning with a snap of his fingers his cloak.

"And where are you going," Freya asks.

"Vanaheim. I'm going to chat with Surt and figure this whole thing out. I figure, we're both mature god-like beings, so we can hammer out an agreement we can both work with."

"I see…are you sure that is wise?"

"C'mon," Rufus says, waving dismissively, "Midgard's at peace, the Jotuns are quiet, Hel's not bothering anyone. What crisis could possibly come up in the time it takes me to go to Vanaheim and back?"

* * *

A small village outside of Weeping Meadow valley.

The boy pushes his glasses up his nose, sitting on his favorite rock as he reads carefully through the book of stories, anecdotes, and formulae, as the other children run past him in their hurry to get to their games.

"Lezard!"

He sighs, pulling the stick out from behind his ear and placing it between the pages.

"Lezard Valeth! Come inside and do your chores!"

He closes the book, hopping off the rock and turning to his house, where his mother stands, cradling his silver-haired infant sister.

"Coming, mother," he announces, walking inside.

And at the edge of the village, the black haired young man in cloak and headband grins.

"_This_ has promise," Loki says.

And disappears.


	2. Chapter 1

After careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that Hrist is a badass. More than a badass, I dub her the Chuck Norris of Asgard. Consider it. Consider the human forms that the Valkyrie take.

Silmeria's a princess. A princess with multiple personality disorder, given, but still a princess.

Lenneth becomes a village girl. Who's sole purpose is to die.

Hrist becomes someone who participates in war for Fun and Profit. So, to that extent, I shall begin each chapter hereon in with a Random Fact about Hrist. Beginning with:

Hrist would have been the main character in Valkyrie Profile. But then the entire development team was found dismembered. No one plays Hrist. No one.

Enjoy.

* * *

In what was the Kingdom of Dipan, it was revealed that the mages and alchemists working for the king had managed to peer into the fabric of time itself, and create a mechanism that could send its user to points other than the present.

That machine, dubbed a Time Machine, lead to the current crisis of a dead Odin, among other things. So, it was decided that the problem would be dealt with. Permanently.

Three figures in brown cloaks stand outside the ruins of Dipan Castle, the wind blowing on the grim, overcast day and giving only the faintest hint of the faces. Two of them are sisters, one older and the other younger, and the third is a man, leaning on an ornate staff. Dipan still had a great hate for the Gods, and they are want to give their identities away so easily.

That, and there is the matter of the Mages lying around. Surprise may be the only thing that saves them.

Two others-both of them barely out of their teens at most, are doing the heavy lifting. One, a red haired youth, and the other a fair-haired, thin young man. The two are step brothers, and they are painting the area around the tower of the Castle into an elaborate sigil of red and blue.

"The sigil should amplify the spell aimed at it," one of the cloaked women, wisps of black hair escaping her hood, says, "I don't want to be in this cursed land longer than we have to."

"The blight on the land was your fault," the other woman says, "Humility's a good thing, you know."

"Yes. It _is._ Can we please not bring up this subject more than we have to?"

The two children finish their labors, walking to their taskmasters.

"We're done," Ull says, "The sigil's complete, Lady Hrist."

"Good. Get behind us, then."

The two do, as the man walks forward, raising his staff as he pulls back the hood to reveal a radiant face framed by blonde hair.

The staff's head, a single globe of glass and crystal, glows in the gloom as the clouds part to reveal the sun, power wafting over him and in the sky…

"_Celestial Star,_" he whispers.

And a bolt of light falls from the heavens and shatters the tower, coring it into the ground and causing the earth to shake beneath their feet.

"Done," he says, turning to the women, "We won't need to worry about the time bending any more."

"Thank you, Baldur," the younger woman says, "Still, won't us destroying the time machine interfere with our history?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Silmeria. For now, we can…wait."

The ground shakes, again.

"What was that," Ull asks.

"Stay back," Baldur says, "Something…appeared…and…oh dear."

From the hole, something metal glints in the sun. Something rises, shaking the earth as it does. Standing nearly forty feet tall, chicken legged and with a protrusion of glass and metal from its torso, it resembles something humanoid, with arms ending in holed knobs and blocks on its shoulders.

"What the Hel," Ull's companion asks.

"It came through the time machine at the last moment," Baldur responds, "Hrist?"

Hrist moves. She simply blurs, her cloak hanging in the air as she leaps from it, revealing the black armored battle maiden as she takes flight towards the mechanical beast, spear already formed in her hands.

From the shoulders of the beast, projectiles trailing flame and smoke burst forth, exploding against Hrist…and doing nothing past scoring armor and making her angry, as she dives at the creature with a yell.

"Magni! Ull," Baldur shouts, "Hrist needs aid!"

"I can't get a clear shot from here," Ull yells, cocking his bow.

"Problem solved."

The God of Strength grabs Ull by his quiver-strap and hurls him at the beast, before he himself hefts up a fallen pillar with one hand and charges the creature.

The other cloaked woman discards her disguise, revealing the azure armor and blonde hair of the youngest of the Battle Maidens, taking off in graceful flight as she bears her bow and arrows, pelting the armor of the creature before catching Ull on his descent and placing him on the ground in front.

"Magni," she calls out, "A little more care with your brother next time!"

The God of Strength, youngest child of Thor, pays little attention as he smashes the pillar into the beast's side, a blast of concussive force from one of the arms sending him flying out of the castle yard. The creatures bucks wildly as Hrist gains a firm hold on its torso, stabbing it with her spear for leverage and repeatedly slamming the armor with her fist.

Silmeria sees what is coming, pushing Ull out of the way before one of its arms absently swings into her, throwing her through the castle wall and into the ruins of the castle itself.

* * *

He watches the entire conflagration with a exasperated look. Some schemes require tools of a more delicate nature. This tool was hardly one. But it would be unfair to refer to him simply as a tool, though, considering their relation.

Still, other matters call him, and with but a thought, he disappears.

* * *

Rising, shaking the dust off of her, Silmeria finds herself in the castle, near the throne room. Near, she remembers, where she and Alicia had their duel with Hrist following the execution of the King Barbarosa.

"_We remember you…_"

There is a blur of motion, and Silmeria realizes that her being struck by the beast resulted in her dropping her bow. Loosening the scabbard at her hip, she draws her sword, eyes carefully watching the world around her. She knows that she is not alone. Stories told to her by her time-displaced sister during their brief reunion told her the Mages would not leave Dipan.

Any undead, when they become undead, fixes upon a singular thought which drives their existence. Most undead carry the fear of dying. Brahms, noble, fearsome Brahms, carried with him his feelings of injustice and contempt for Lord Odin. And the Mages died with hate in their heart, of her sister for her role in the sacking of Dipan.

Her presence in Alicia at the time probably didn't help matters, either.

"_Valkyrie!_"

The three mages appear hovering above her, their identities hidden in cloaks and decaying hands pointed at her. The hands crackle with eldritch energy, and as swift as she is, Silmeria knows she cannot dodge this strike.

"_Reflect Sorcery._"

And the bolts all reflect off of a magick shield and knock the three mages from the air.

"Ah, blinded by rage and most importantly, sloppy. The benefits of being undead, which I imagine is the central reason I tended to tread carefully around trigger-happy mages and Goddesses who know how to use an axe."

The three mages stand, staring in a mixture of awe and rage at the intruder of the battle. Short, with a dark blue cloak and holding an ornate silver staff, with a mop of brown hair and turtle-shell glasses adorning his nose, the wizard smiles in that disturbing way that tells one he is _thinking_ and that you are _screwed._

"Apprentice," Dyne screams, "You betraying son of a w-"

"Please, Masters," the wizard says, "No need for vulgarities. I am here to do you a service and reinsert you into the wheel of life."

"Laughable," Walther says, the middle aged of the mages circling him as Silmeria looks on, dumbstruck, "I've seen how black your soul's become. You can't possibly cast an exorcism upon us."

"True, holy magic is beyond me. For the most part. But as an undead, you must realize it. Trapped in your old bodies, aged and not moved by the mechanisms of biology but by will alone. Tell me, Masters. What word best describes your present state?"

Dallas is the first to realize it. His understanding comes out in, at best, a whimper.

"Flammable."

"Correct."

He snaps his fingers.

"_Inferno._"

* * *

The entire east wing of Castle Dipan goes up in a fireball, and to its credit it even distracts Hrist as she pauses in yanking off a layer of the beasts armor.

"_Well, he's done,_" the voice from the beast says, "_Funtimes over, ladies._"

The machine lurches forward, and Hrist is allowed a moment to recognize the voice.

And then it explodes.

* * *

What was the Three Mages are now three piles of ash on what was the floor, but is now the center of a smoking crater. Her personal shield fading, Silmeria stares dumbstruck at the only other remaining inhabitant of Castle Dipan.

"Well, that clears that up," Lezard Valeth says, patting his gloves together, "I'd imagine you'll have to cast an exorcism here to make sure, but this is one less problem Rufus will have to deal with down the line."

Silmeria opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks to the east, narrowing her eyes, and turns back to him.

"…how?"

"Yes, I'm not the same one currently growing up," Lezard says, "I did, after all, have access to a time machine. I didn't _have_ to travel a hundred years or so back in time. I could have gone _forward_ a thousand years, or back even further. Or I could have made more choices. I could have set aside my obsession with Lenneth and pursued Freya, or Hrist or even you. An entire multiverse of possibility was open for me, you see. And because of the time machine, I wasn't limited to just one universe."

He snaps his fingers. The beginning of a travel spell begins forming around him.

"But…why," she asks.

"Well, you've destroyed the time machine. No reason for Lenneth to come here, and the Mages would be left unchecked. No need for the extra burden."

"But…how?"

"How? Oh, you mean how I exist parallel to my newer, reincarnated self? Why, dear Silmeria. Out of all the timelines, and all the probabilities in the cosmos itself…what do you think was the chance that I _won?_"

And in a burst of light, he's gone.

* * *

Everyone was, more or less, unharmed by the beast detonating. Magni ended up somewhere in Solde and had to walk back, but he was unharmed. Ull sprained his ankle.

Hrist was not happy, all around, because she recognized the voice. Silmeria was not one to talk during the events, either. The encounter left her shaken enough that she did not speak of it at all. All she knew was that, possibly, another version of the being who killed Lord Odin was running around.

They took Bifrost back to Asgard, to report to Freya or Lord Rufus of the events in Dipan, but Silmeria is not two steps from the entrance to the spanning bridge that connects Midgard and Asgard than the distortion opens once more and Rufus marches through. He stops, turns to the group, and points at Silmeria.

"Silmeria," he shouts, "Your ass! My throne room! RIGHT NOW!"

And turning, he begins stomping towards Valhalla.

"Hrist, you to! Bring an AXE!"

And Hrist grabs Silmeria by the arm and drags her off.

* * *

Outside of Dipan, Lezard Valeth reappears. In front of him is also Lezard Valeth, only he is in a brown jumpsuit with a helmet under his arm, his glasses instead goggles resting on his forehead.

"You had fun," Lezard says.

"Oh, yes," the second Lezard responds, "Shame I had to torch the Timber Wolf, though. Those don't exactly grow on trees, here."

"Yes, yes. Well, the game is finally afoot. The pieces have begun moving…"

"And the players have begun playing," another Lezard, this one in a tan tunic and black trousers says, appearing from the shadows, "Of course, it's moot if we're not all thinking of the same plan."

"Of course not. The prime player must be correctly molded, after all. Without him in place, the entire thing falls to crap."

"Of course. Given, he's still young and impressionable. So, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I think so," the goggled Lezard says, "But where will we find nylons in that size?"

The other two stare at him, and sighing, they disappear.

"You could at least laugh," he responds, "Are you there? I can't teleport, you know."

He looks around, and shakes his head.

"Tough room."


End file.
